


Beautiful

by clairell



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Coercion, M/M, Petplay, Self-Harm, Self-Harming Harry, Sexual Assault, but it's kind of sick, simon cowell really isn't this horrible in real life, sorry - Freeform, zianourry friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 06:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1334851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairell/pseuds/clairell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is molested and raped by Simon Cowell.  No one knows.  Harry isn't supposed to tell or he risks being cut from the band.  It takes him a long time, but he finally lets it out.  The boys kind of hate him at first, for telling lies about their beloved uncle Simon, but then they realise that Harry's not the Harry he used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's really really out of character. Simon is a wonderful man. But every story needs a villain. 
> 
> Proceed with caution. Enjoy.

“So, you’ve retracted your statement against Simon Cowell, you lied to the world, and you’ve lost millions of record sales,” the interviewer said without much emotion. “How are you feeling, Harry Styles?”

Harry bit back tears. “I’ve let a lot of people down,” he said somberly. “My mum is disappointed. I haven’t talked to the lads in a week. I have this perpetual stomach ache.”

The interviewer, whose name was John, hummed understandingly. “What made you lie in the first place, Harry?”

Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts. He bit his lip. “You don’t think it’ll really hurt anyone or anything until it really does. You think it’s innocent until, suddenly, someone’s life is ruined and it’s your fault.”

John nodded. “So, Simon Cowell never touched you inappropriately?”

Harry closed his eyes tightly and gathered himself. “No.”

John read from a piece of paper. “He never called you and told you he wanted to have sex with you?” Harry shook his head because he couldn’t get his lips to move. “He never bought you a pair of boxers that read _My Purrrfect Kitten_ across the bum?”

“No, sir,” Harry said in the squeakiest voice that ever left his mouth.

John leaned closer. “He never put his hands on your bum while you were alone in the recording studio?”

Harry swallowed. He’d made this statement only a month ago, and now it was all turning back against him. “No.”

“He never sent you nude pictures of himself?”

“No.”

John blinked a few times as he read the last part of Harry’s statement. “Simon Cowell never told you that he’d end One Direction if you told everyone what he did to you?”

“No,” he sniffled. Harry felt his eyes getting warmer and warmer. A tear fell onto his lap. He looked away.

Harry remembered telling the whole world the truth. He remembered the feeling deep in his gut that ate him alive. He remembered cursing himself because he knew that Simon was going to end One Direction. But he didn’t. He gave Harry a second chance.

“Why are you crying, Harry?” John said rather harshly. “How do you think this is reflecting on Simon? I reckon he cried about this, too. After you ruined his reputation, tore through his life and left nothing but the ashes.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek so hard, it bled. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, eyes red and teary. “I’m sorry to everyone.” His breath hitched.

“And you haven’t ruined just Simon’s life. Oh no. You’ve got four other band mates who now have your same shitty mistakes to drag around.”

Harry’s lip wobbled and he let out a full-on yelp. “I’m so sorry!” He put his hands up to cover his tearstained face and the sleeves of his jumper fell down to his elbows, revealing something John hadn’t expected to see.

“I see you’ve got some new tattoos,” the man said. “You wear them well.”

Except, John wasn’t talking about just another mark of ink permanently etched into Harry’s skin. Oh no. He was speaking of the bright red lines that crisscrossed over Harry’s wrists—at least a dozen cuts on each arm.

Harry stared back at him with something a little devilish in his eyes. He smiled a crooked smile through the tears that flowed past his lips. And he said, “I’m glad you like them.”

He stood up, pushed past the cameramen and the stage hands, and ran as hard as he could to the car that was waiting for him in the front car park.

“Are you all right?” Paul asked, as he pulled away from the curb and headed for the road. The path was no longer clogged with screaming fans, but instead the same girls with signs, red signs, each with a different saying about how much they hated Harry Styles.

“No,” is all Harry answered, as he ducked away to avoid the people who gave him angry eyes and spit at the windows.

“That was a very brave thing you did,” Paul said after a while of silence.

And Harry just nodded.

Because Paul knew.

~&~

He was at his flat that he used to share with the other lads until they’d moved out. Without thinking, he picked up his mobile and dialed Liam’s number.

“Harry I told you not to call anymore.”

“But I wanted to make sure you saw the interview and you know how sorry I am and that I didn’t mean to-”

 _Click_.

Harry sighed. He stood up from the couch and walked over to the kitchen. There was a sliding door that led to a tiny little balcony outside where Harry used to have his tea. He opened the door and stood on the balcony, admiring the cars that rushed by.

He kicked off his shoes and put one foot up on the ledge. He heart jumped. He wondered what it would be like to fly.

He thought about all the people who loved him—or should he say _used to love_ him.

He put his foot down and slipped back into his shoes. But just to see what it looked like, just to see what it would look like, he pressed himself against the banister and dropped his mobile.

He was so far up from the ground that he didn’t even see it hit the pavement.

He heard the doorbell and ran back inside, closing the door behind him.

A man stood there with the hood of his jumper flipped up so that no one could tell it was him.

But Harry knew exactly who it was.

“How’s my little kitten?” He asked.

Harry put on the best smile he could. He purred the way Simon had always liked. Simon let himself in the door, shutting it and locking it behind him.

“Can’t have a little kitty escaping, can we?” Harry shook his head, his heart falling.

Simon sat on the couch and turned on the telly. Harry climbed into his lap the way Simon had always liked and purred as well as he could into the man’s chest.

He knew what this looked like. He knew that if anyone walked in on them at this moment that they would assume it was all consensual. But it wasn’t. It was just…

Harry knew the kinds of horrors that would happen to him if he didn’t obey his master. He wasn’t sure if he wanted a repeat of the last time.

“Take your trousers off,” Simon panted, his breath hot and heavy. Harry didn’t like the sound of the man’s rough voice even more than he despised the instructions that were given to him, but he obeyed.

Harry mewled, though it was almost silent, as he unbuttoned his jeans and set them in a pile on the floor next to Simon’s feet. “There’s that perky little arse I love,” Simon chuckled, reaching for Harry’s bum and squeezing it with his palms. “I would just _love_ to tear you open, you little darling.”

Harry whimpered. “Harry doesn’t want to play,” he whispered, almost silently. Luckily Simon hadn’t heard.

Harry closed his eyes as he felt a hand slip inside the front of his boxers. He clenched his teeth together. He hated that pair of slimy hands all over him. Soon, he felt his top being lifted from his frame. Simon flicked each of his nipples.

“Naughty little kitty,” he scolded. “You’re getting me hard.”

“Harry’s sorry,” Harry said softly.

“ _Feel_ ,” Simon instructed, taking Harry’s hand—or paw, as he called it—and rubbing it over his erection. “Feel how hard you’re making daddy, naughty boy.”

“Harry bad.”

“That’s right. Harry’s a bad kitty.”

“Harry’s sorry,” he said. He felt his humanity slowly slipping away from him.

“Take daddy out, Harry. Give daddy little kitty licks.”

“Harry doesn’t want to play, daddy,” Harry whispered, eyes tightly closed.

Simon replied to him with a heavy slap across the cheek. “Go on, kitty,” he said, voice calm and soft.

Harry reluctantly reached for Simon’s zipper and let the man’s cock spring free. He held onto the shaft with both of his big hands and licked the tip. He swallowed the precome. He hated Simon’s taste.

Harry felt a tear fall from his eye as Simon shed his trousers and forced himself deep into Harry’s throat, gagging the poor thing.

Harry coughed, but he kept sucking because he knew what could happen if he didn’t.

Simon pulled out and Harry could finally _breathe_. “Hold out your hands, kitten.”

Harry did as he was told, holding both of his hands out in front of him, cupped as if he was about to receive a gift or something.   Simon came hard into Harry’s palms. The lad wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Nice bowl of milk for one special little kitten,” Simon intoned, ruffling Harry’s hair. “I want to see you drink all of it up.”

This is how it was every time. Harry bowed his head and lapped it up like a proper cat, licking until his hands were clean and his stomach felt uneasy.

He plastered a smile on his face.

“What do we say to daddy?”

“Harry loves daddy’s milk,” he said, almost robotically. This was trained into him from the beginning. “Thank you, daddy.”

Simon patted his legs and Harry crawled up onto his lap again. “Daddy saw what you did at the interview.” Harry nodded slowly. “Good kitten,” he said, giving Harry a kiss on the collarbone. “We don’t give away daddy’s secrets, do we?”

“Harry’s very sorry for being naughty,” Harry said softly.

“Daddy knows,” Simon chuckled, slipping his fingers down Harry’s hips to remove his boxers. He tossed those to the ground as well.

“Harry pretty?” Harry asked, cheeks blushing hard.

“Harry’s beautiful,” Simon said with a smile on his face. He brushed his hand down Harry’s length. “Harry is so, so beautiful.”

Harry felt himself slipping further into what he called his “other self”. His “other self” was the one who played with Simon and enjoyed it. His “other self” was the one that came out when he was all alone in his flat without someone to tell him how beautiful he really was.

“Harry’s sad, daddy,” he said, a pout on his lips.

“Why’s that?”

“Harry misses his friends.”

Simon shook his head. “I told you those boys aren’t good for you, kitten. They tried to steal you away from daddy.”

“Harry’s sorry.”

“I know, kitten. Daddy forgives you because he loves you.” Simon said, winding his chubby fingers through Harry’s chocolate hair.

“Harry loves daddy, too,” Harry said, purring. He nuzzled his nose up to Simon’s chest and placed a warm kiss on his neck.

“I’ve got to go, kitten. But I’ll be back tomorrow, yeah? We can play tomorrow.”

Harry nodded slowly, tears falling because he didn’t want Simon to leave.

He didn’t want to be alone.

The man put his trousers on and left in a wink, blowing kisses to Harry as he closed the door behind him. Harry curled up into a ball on the couch, still naked and reeking of his daddy, and he fell asleep that way.

Of all the things that Harry had been through, this was the one thing that never really changed. There were so many people that hated him and he was convinced that Simon really did love him.

And he wanted more than anything to be loved again, no matter what kind of love that was.

~&~

Paul dropped Harry off at the recording studio the next morning.

It was the first time he’d seen the others in a week.

They were all sitting in front of their producer, Rodney, who was equally as steamed as the other 4/5 of One Direction.

“Now that this whole debacle with Harry is cleaned up, we can get on with the music making, though I’m not exactly sure how many records we’ll sell due to the fact that Harry just had to go and fuck everything up for all of us,” Rodney said in one breath.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, without a single apologetic look falling upon him.

“Zayn, you and Harry will be in the first booth-”

“No. No _way_ am I going in a booth with him.”

Before Rodney could open up his mouth to speak, Louis said, “Ditto,” and Liam and Niall nodded in agreement.

Harry stood. “We can record my vocals later, then,” he said, before leaving the room.

On the way back to his flat, Paul talked to him.

“Things will look up, Harry. People will move on.”

“Harry’s sad,” he said, tears slipping down his reddening cheeks despite his attempts to keep them in.

“What was that?” Paul asked, completely caught off guard by Harry’s speech pattern.

“I’m sad,” Harry said.

“You’ve got to stay strong, yeah?” Paul said as he pulled up next to the door of Harry’s flat. “Ring me later if you need anything.”

Harry got out, shakily standing.

“I threw my mobile out the window,” he said blankly. “I wanted to see it fly.”

He slammed the door and Paul was only left to wonder what had happened that had made Harry do such a thing. He stayed parked for a bit longer, waiting for Harry to get inside the lobby and maybe even up to his room before he pulled away.

He was losing Harry, slowly but surely.

Harry waited around in his flat until Simon came.

“How’s my little kitten?” He asked as he let himself in the door.

“Nobody loves Harry. Everyone thinks he’s bad.” Tears were in his eyes. Simon swore there was nothing that turned him on more than seeing Harry like that.

“Oh, no, kitten. You’re not bad,” Simon said, cupping his hands around Harry’s face. He pulled Harry over to the couch and helped him slip out of his kit.

“Harry pretty?” Harry asked, just like the time before.

“Harry is beautiful,” Simon said, running his hand up the center of Harry’s exposed tummy. This elicited a giggle from the visibly downtrodden lad, who still had tears in his eyes. “Harry is so, so beautiful.”

“Harry love daddy.”

“Daddy loves Harry.”

Harry sat up, naked as ever, and threw his arms around Simon. “Harry never wants daddy to leave.”

And that was the night that Simon went too far. That was the night he raped Harry.

That was the night Harry couldn’t take it anymore.

~&~

Niall, Louis, Liam, and Zayn shared a flat just a few floors down from Harry. It was early on a Friday evening. They’d just popped the tops on their first pints of the night and they were nearly ready to start a film when there was a knock at the door.

Niall went to answer it.

“Harry, we told you to stay away-”

Harry was sobbing, tears flowing from his eyes the way water flows in a waterfall. His clothes were disheveled, his hair was sticking to his forehead, and he reeked of something that Niall didn’t want to describe.

But perhaps the most striking thing of all was the trail of blood trickling down the back of Harry’s thighs.

“Harry, my God, what happened?”

“Harry said no. Daddy said yes.”

Louis stood up from where he was sitting. “What are you talking about? _Who_ are you talking about?”

“Harry screamed. Daddy hit Harry with his belt.”

“Who’s daddy?” Liam asked. “Harry, you’re not making any sense.”

Harry sighed. “Harry was sad. Daddy said he make Harry feel better. But Harry didn’t want that kind of better.”

Zayn nearly choked on his drink. “He’s talking about Simon,” he said, louder than he thought.

Niall and Liam and Louis looked at Zayn and then at Harry.

“Harry…” Liam said, voice shaking. “Harry, is daddy’s name Simon?” He asked, gently as possible.

Harry nodded, tears still falling. “Daddy hurt Harry.”

“Zayn, run a bath,” Louis instructed, helping Harry out of his dirty clothes.

“Bum hurts,” Harry complained as Louis helped him step out of a blood stained pair of jogging bottoms. “Mouth hurts, too.”

“Has this been going on for a while, Harry?” Niall asked, as Harry walked on shaky legs over to the bath tub.

“Daddy loves Harry,” is all the lad says as Niall helps him lower himself into the water. “Harry’s daddy’s little kitten.”

Niall choked on his words. “Is that what he calls you?” Harry nodded Niall began to wash the poor lad, avoiding open sores and bruises. He noticed for the first time the red lines on Harry’s wrists. He didn’t say anything.

He washed Harry’s thighs next, though he was careful of where he put his hands.

“Harry pretty?” Harry asked, looking down at himself through the clear water.

A tear slipped down Niall’s flushed cheek. “Harry is beautiful,” he said, pressing a lingering kiss to Harry’s soft temple. “Harry is so, so beautiful.”


	2. Chapter 2

Louis, Liam, Niall, and Zayn were sat together on a couch across from an interviewer, Kristen. They each had tears in their eyes. They each sat in an uncomfortable position.

“How can you even begin to describe all the horrible things that Harry went through?” She asked.

“You can’t,” Liam finally answered. “I don’t even think we’ll ever know to what extent he was hurt. And I don’t think we’ll ever want to know.” The lads nodded in agreement.

“How long had this been going on?” She asked.

“Since X-Factor, or at least that’s what he told us,” Louis said, wiping his face with a shaking hand. “I mean, it’s just awful to have three good years of your life taken from you, just like that.” He shook his head and his voice became clogged with more and more tears. “And no one even knew,” he said, though it came out in more of a whisper.

“Three years,” Kristen repeated incredulously, eyebrows creeping up her forehead. “He was sixteen,” she recalled.

Zayn nodded. “He was just a little kid,” he said, his voice nearly gone as well.

“How is his condition lately? Our last update said he was in a lot of pain.”

Niall nodded. “He’s not so much in physical pain now, though he’s still got some scars. He’s just an emotional wreck. He’s still not…” he took a moment to think of the right word. “He’s still not _aware_ that it’s over.”

“He thinks that Simon might come back?” Kristen guessed, tipping her head slightly to the side as she tried to make sense of it all.

Niall continued, seeing how the others were at a loss. His voice shook. “Simon was… Simon _loved_ Harry. And even in that sick and twisted way, Harry accepted it as love. Harry needed love. And so Harry’s still walking around, now, asking where he is, when he’s coming back for a visit, what he himself had done wrong to make Simon go away.”

“Simon had brainwashed him,” Kristen said.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what it was,” Niall said. “For three whole years, Harry didn’t know there was anything else but what Simon did to him.”

“Can you tell me more about the night Harry was raped?”

Niall choked. Liam put a reassuring hand on his knee and took over. “He came to our flat. He was genuinely shattered, his eyes were so red. He looked like he was going to fall flat on his face.”

Kristen nodded, urging him on.

“And we were so confused. Why was he bleeding? Who was the fucker who’d done this? And then Zayn finally had figured it out, that it was Simon. We were so wrecked. I mean, Harry had called Simon _daddy_. That’s just not something anyone would want to hear.”

“You’re great lads,” she said finally, “for sticking by him through all of this.”

“Well we didn’t,” Liam confessed. “After we thought that he’d lied, we were all so angry at him. But I guess you just never think there’s something else going on until something so _drastic_ happens that you can ignore it anymore.”

“I’ll think we’ll end with that,” Kristen said with a sniffle. “Thanks for tuning in. All our hearts go out to Harry Styles, these lads right here, and of course, their families.”

The cameras went off. The microphones were unclipped from their collars. They were free.

But the four lads stayed on the couch, wrapped in each other’s presence, tears falling freely and no words forming on their lips.

~&~

Harry was upset that they’d made him see a psychologist after the night that he’d told his daddy not to hurt him. He figured it had something to do with the fact that his ‘other self’ wouldn’t seem to disappear. Or maybe it was because this was one of those tests that Simon had told him about.

Back when Harry must’ve been seventeen, Simon had told him that there were going to be tests that people were going to put him through.

“What kind of tests, daddy?”

“Memory tests. They’ll ask you questions about what we do together. But you can’t tell them.”

“Why?”

Simon had sighed deeply. “One Direction might have to break up if anyone ever finds out.”

Harry had gasped, clasping his hand over his mouth. “Break up? Why can’t no one find out, daddy?”

Simon had sighed again. He gave Harry a kiss on the cheek. “A lot of people out there aren’t very fond of what we do.”

Harry snapped out of his memory as his doctor, Dr. Macleod, spoke to him. “Harry, I asked you a question,” he said.

“Wasn’t listening.”

“I asked you how many times Simon came to visit you after you made your statement.”

Harry shook his head. “Not supposed to say,” Harry said, repositioning himself on the couch he’d been told to sit on.

“This is all confidential, I promise.”

“Daddy will know,” Harry insisted, tucking his knees to his chest. “Daddy knows everything.”

Dr. Macleod put down his pad and looked at Harry for a moment, observed him. He didn’t see an international popstar. He saw a scared five-year-old boy with scars that were going to follow him for the rest of his life. “Harry, did daddy love you?”

“Daddy _still_ loves me,” Harry corrected. “He loves me more than anyone.”

“Why do you think he loves you, Harry?” The man’s eyebrows were knitted almost too far together. He had leant in close to see the reaction on Harry’s face.

“Because I was his little kitty,” Harry finally said, after thinking about how he wanted to say it. “And daddy said that daddies always take care of their little kitties.”

Dr. Macleod nodded. “Harry, what Simon-”

“Daddy,” Harry firmly corrected.

“What _daddy_ did to you, that’s not what love is.”

Harry pouted. The cogs turned in his head. He was quiet for a long time.

“Then I don’t really know what love means anymore.”

~&~

That night, Harry went home to Liam, Louis, Niall, and Zayn’s flat.

“Hi,” he said to Zayn who was cooking at the stove.

“Hey, Haz,” He said with a smile. “How was your day?”

Harry sat at the table and watched Zayn stir the pot on the stove. “Bad,” he said, though there wasn’t much emotion in his voice.

“Why’s that?”

“Miss daddy,” he said blankly, laying his head down on the table top. He groaned. “When’s he coming back?” He said, and though his voice was muffled by his arm, Zayn knew exactly what he’d said.

Zayn put his spoon down and walked over to the lad. He stroked his hand down Harry’s back. “Daddy’s not coming back, Harry,” he said, gently as he could.

Zayn would always be confused by this. If this man had raped Harry, treated him like nothing for years, why would Harry want him to come back?

“He’s _got_ to.” Harry deadpanned, looking up at the older lad with bloodshot eyes full of tears. Zayn noted how grey they were.

“Daddy went to a place with other people that are just like him,” Zayn said, avoiding the word ‘prison’ as well as he could.

“Daddy _promised._ ”

“Sometimes people break promises.”

“But this was a special promise,” Harry replied in nearly a whisper.

Zayn pretended not to hear.

He left Harry alone, then, only talking to him to offer him food, but he wouldn’t eat. When the rest of the lads came round, they offered him cuddles, but he didn’t want them. They each gave him a kiss as he headed off to bed a bit earlier than usual.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” he whispered into his dark room before falling fast asleep.

~&~

Harry was awake first the next day. He wandered out of the bedroom, down the hall, to the kitchen. He noticed that a piece of paper was slid under the door. He picked it up. It was an envelope with his name on it.

He opened it quickly took out his letter.

 _Hi Kitten, it’s Daddy_ , it read.

Harry didn’t know whether to be thrilled

Or terrified.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi Kitten, it’s Daddy._

_I wanted to say how sorry I was for hurting you. I’m not angry with you, baby. Daddy could never be angry at his little Kitten._

_Daddy has to go away for a little while, all right? He loves you very much, but he has a bit of business to take care of. We’ll play when I can come home, yeah?_

_Until then, be a good boy,_

_~Daddy_

It was after that when Harry packed away his other self and put him up on the top shelf of the closet for safe keeping.

Harry stumbled out of bed one morning, eyes still heavy with sleep. He went to the kitchen to make himself breakfast, but he wasn’t expecting Liam to have already made it for him.

“Good morning,” he said quietly.

“Morning, Haz,” Liam said with a smile, like he did every morning. He presented Harry with a cuppa, some toast, and a kiss on the top of the head. Harry smiled at him in thanks, and that alone was enough to make Liam’s day. “Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said, sipping his tea. He instinctively pulled his sleeves over his wrists, to hide the new rows of plasters that covered his cuts. Liam only grinned.

“We should go out today, yeah?” Liam suggested. “All five of us.”

By the time Louis had parked their car in the car park near the entrance of the mall, Harry had already had enough of the paps. They’d flooded around the car, the flashes of cameras nearly blinding him as he tried to weave his way through the labyrinth. Questions flew from their mouths so fast he could hardly tell who’d asked each one.

“I don’t know if this was such a good idea,” he whispered softly to Zayn who had been sitting next to him.

“It’ll be fine,” Zayn assured him, helping him step out of the car. “Just stick close, yeah?” Harry was sure that Zayn had meant to grab his hand, but instead, he clung onto his wrist. He had to admit that it hurt a more than just a bit. But he stuck close, laughed with his friends, and he was happy.

Even if it was only for a little while.

Later on that afternoon, Niall and Louis had gone to the studio to record and Liam went with Zayn to pick up some food, which left Harry in the flat all by himself. He wasted no time in finding his razor (which he’d kept safely hidden at the bottom of one of his drawers) and setting to work.

He peeled back all his plasters and winced—his arm was completely mangled already. He thought about it for a moment. Did he really _need_ to do this? He put his blade flat on his arm and admired the coolness. He closed his eyes and took a sharp breath.

He picked it up between his middle finger and thumb and watched the light reflect off of it for a while. He breathed deep and just thought. He heard the door swing open. Liam shouted, “We’re home!” and it startled him so much that he jumped, slipping and cutting his wrist once again.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth and quickly put pressure on it—this one was deeper than the others.

“Harry?” Liam called down the hallway. “Harry, Zee and I brought back takeaway!”

“In the toilet!” Harry shouted, holding back the tears that came to his eyes as he lifted his hand away only to find more blood pouring from his wound. He fumbled with even more plasters, overlapping them across his wrist as best he could. It was still a bit bloody, but nothing that he couldn’t make disappear with a shirt sleeve. “Coming!” He shouted again, flushing his imaginary waste and then going to the sink to wash the blood from his hands.

He took the razor and tucked it gently in one of the bathroom drawers. “I’ll come back later,” he whispered to himself.

He went out into the kitchen and was surprised to find the lads sitting at the table. Niall and Louis were there as well, happily passing around takeaway boxes and giggling to each other like old times. Harry quite enjoyed it. He sat down next to Liam who passed him his favourite rice.

“You remembered?” He asked, slightly amused. Though he didn’t question it any further, as he was absolutely famished.

“Of course I remembered!” Liam laughed. How could he ever forget?

“I picked up a film I thought we could all watch,” Zayn said.

Louis cheered.   “Thank God! I was getting sick of Toy Story!” Liam shot him a long, hard glare.

“It’s an old favourite,” he said, pulling the case from the bag on the counter. “Titanic. Is that all right?”

Harry smiled. That was always his go-to film for their nights in. He nodded.

They quickly finished and Liam cleaned up while the others set up the couch for a comfortable night. They piled blankets upon blankets to make their fort a bit warmer. Liam squeezed in on the end, wrapping his arms around Niall who was complaining about being too cold.

Zayn started the film and they settled in. Harry quietly mouthed the words to himself. He knew them by heart, even though it had been a few months since he’d watched.

“Harry, you can’t be crying yet, mate.” Louis whined, a bit sarcastically.

“I’m not!” Harry laughed.

“My shoulder’s wet!”

Zayn reached over and flipped on the lights, but he wasn’t prepared at all for what he saw.

Louis’ shirt was wet all right; soaked with blood from the shoulder down the arm, right where Harry’s hand had been. Zayn swallowed hard. “Let me see your wrist,” he demanded.

Harry sprang up from the couch, tears sprouting in his eyes. “No,” he said, though his voice was thin and frail. Zayn came a step closer. “Please don’t,” he protested.

But Zayn was faster. He had grabbed Harry’s hand before the lad could even think about running in the other direction. Harry had bled through his plasters and his shirt, or so Zayn found. He gasped covering his mouth.

“Why are you doing that, Harry?” Niall asked, his thick Irish accent making his voice sound even sadder.

Harry choked on his tears. “To f-forget,” he sobbed.

Niall stood up and wrapped his arms around the shaking lad, carefully avoiding his bloody wrists. “Nothing is ever going to make you forget, Harry,” he whispered, sounding sagely even though he was hardly a few months older than Harry himself. “You’re always going to carry that memory around. And cutting yourself is certainly not going to help your problem.”

“Then what can I do?” Harry squeezes his eyes tightly shut and let new tears trail down his reddening cheeks.

Niall carefully wiped away Harry’s tears with the pad of his thumb. “You can replace the bad memories with new ones. Better ones,” he said softly.

Harry nodded, swallowing back more tears. He buried his face in Niall’s neck and just cried for a bit. And Niall let him. From experience he knew that Harry just needed some time to cry this out.

When he was finally finished, all the boys were crowded around, rubbing his back and whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

“Harry pretty?” He asked, picking up his face from Niall’s shoulder.

Liam had begun to dress Harry’s wrists, fixing them the proper way. He ran his hands along the rigid scars.

“Harry’s so, so beautiful.”

And thus became Harry’s first good memory in a long, long time.


	4. Epilogue

“Today we are with Simon Cowell, world renown judge of X-Factor, who is currently held in this maximum security prison on allegations that he raped boybander, Harry Styles.” The blond anchorwoman said, and the camera panned to the man of mention.

His inmate number was clearly visible on his chest and shackles bound his hands and feet. He nodded slowly, a smirk appearing on his face.

“Last time I spoke with you,” she said, “you were sitting in a judge’s seat on the X-Factor.”

“Things change,” he said thoughtfully.

The woman gave him an uncomfortable look and adjusted her glasses. “I’m sure you’ve heard the allegations made by Harry Styles.”

“These aren’t _allegations_ , the man said, carefully pronouncing the word. “They’re lies.”

“So you’re denying them?”

Simon sat up a bit straighter in his metal chair and looked the woman dead in the eyes. “He retracted the statement the first time. What makes you think he won’t retract it again?”

“There’s hard physical evidence that suggests that his rapist was someone he knew.”

Simon laughed. “Harry Styles is one of the most famous people on earth. It could’ve just as easily been one of his ‘mates’.”

“But what of the other allegations?” The woman asked, reading the list that seemed forever long. She picked up a document that had Harry’s statement from months earlier. “He sent me pictures of himself—naked ones—and he would always ring me and tell me that he couldn’t wait to tear me open,’” she read, a lump rising in her throat. She didn’t want to believe she was sitting across the table from a man like this—a sex offender—but maybe she was.

“Just as easily lies,” Simon said, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

“These?” The woman asked, showing Simon a familiar picture—the boxers that had _My Purrrfect Kitten_ stamped across the bum. “Do you recognise these?”

Simon shook his head. “Anyone can buy those.”

The woman sighed. “In the last part of his statement, Harry said that you loved him.”

“Of course I do,” Simon said, smiling. “He was like a son to me.”

The anchorwoman swallowed hard. “Then how could you do such horrible things to him?”

“I didn’t,” he replied simply. “I’m not a monster.”

The woman ruffled her papers and tipped her head down. “I’m not so sure.”

-

Harry curled into Zayn’s. “Can you change it?” He whispered into the older lad’s shoulder.

“’course babe,” Zayn replied, kissing the top of Harry’s head. He clicked it to some programme about African animals—something light hearted.

“Are you ready for the trial tomorrow?” Niall asked, swirling his fingers over Harry’s exposed tummy.

The lad looked up with hurt in his eyes. “What if they don’t believe me?”

“If you tell the truth, they have to believe you,” Liam said, flashing a smile. “And besides, everyone knows that Cowell’s a twat.”

Harry flinched at the name but nodded in agreement. “You have nothing to be afraid of,” Louis reiterated. “We’ll be there the whole time, anyways.”

“I love you guys,” he said softly, but the only thing on his mind was Simon.

This kind of love is different, though, he remembers. This kind of love was beautiful.

~&~

They set out early the next morning, hoping to avoid most of the paps. Louis helped Harry tie his necktie and Liam and Zayn were working on his shoes.

“Some things never change,” Niall laughed, tucking an unruly curl behind Harry’s ear.

They made it inside without too much of a fuss. Harry joked about being blinded by a camera flash that went off in front of his eyes, but he knew there were bigger things to worry about. They sat down together in the first row, Harry on the outside. They each gave him a kiss as they stepped over his legs.

“Good luck,” Niall whispered as he sat down next to the lad. Harry grabbed his hand and held tightly.

Harry thought he could pull this off. After all, there weren’t _too_ many people, and maybe he wouldn’t even have to look over at Simon.

The man of the hour was led in through the doors, wearing the same clothes as he had in the interview a day before, his perpetual smirk still in place. He was sat in his chair, looking around the room and hoping to catch the eye of someone he’d been wanting to see for the longest time.

Harry decided that he could handle just a peek at the man, so he looked up from his lap.

Simon winked. Harry turned pale.

“You all right?” Liam asked, being the only one of the other lads who noticed what had happened.

“’m fine,” Harry replied quickly.

But Liam noticed Simon rubbing himself under the table. It made him want to stab the bastard.

The innocent look on Harry’s face through it all was the only thing that kept him level-headed.

~&~

“Harry Styles!” A pap shouted, her voice louder and more shrill than the others. “Have you got anything to say about the verdict?”

“No comment,” Zayn answered, flipping up the hood of Harry’s jumper to hide the lad’s face from the cameras.

“C’mon, Harry. You must have something to say!” Another one yelled, waving a microphone in his face, hitting him in the nose. Liam swatted it away.

“Fuck off!” Louis barked, pushing Harry headfirst into the awaiting car.

The sound drowned out as Paul drove away, dodging the occasional person in the street.

Harry draped himself across Liam and Zayn’s laps, crying into his hands. Liam patted his back soothingly.

“You told the truth, Harry. That’s all we could ever ask you to do.”

~&~

There was an article on Harry’s homepage the next morning.

**_Simon Cowell—Convicted_ **

_Yesterday, X-Factor Judge, Simon Cowell, was convicted on two separate counts of rape, as well as innumerable counts of sexual assault. In three week’s time, he will be brought back for sentencing. We are told, by our most reputable sources, that Cowell may receive up to two hundred years in prison for the charges brought against him, but he may get off with only thirty years._

_One expert says, “It may be in his best interest to seek fifty to one hundred years, but either way, that motherf***** will likely spend the rest of his days rotting in a cell._

_Apparently, others have some choice words as well._

_There was an outpouring of support on the social media yesterday and today. Worldwide trending topics on twitter include: #bestrongharry and #letSimonrot_

_Ashton Irwin, Luke Hemmings, Calum Hood, and Michael Clifford (of 5 Seconds of Summer fame), singer/songwriter Ed Sheeran, and countless others have been offering their support as well._

_Lady Gaga, a friend of Styles, has a recent tweet that reads: @Harry_Styles, you are a strong soul. Never give up. With love, LG_

_Styles, who would not speak to us directly, has released a statement saying, “I am not celebrating. I am not ecstatic. If I am happy at all it is due to the fact that this part of my life is over now. I can get on with what I came here in to do in the first place, and that would be to make great music.”_

_Liam Payne, Styles’ best mate and fellow One Direction member, told fans today that their new album, titled ‘Once Upon a Time’ will feature a song written and performed exclusively by Harry._

_“It’s a bit of a different sound,” Payne remarks, “But that’s probably because it’s not about puppy love and girl crushes. Harry’s life’s a bit deeper than that, now.”_

_Niall Horan—often referred to as the Irishman of One Direction—says Harry has titled the song, ‘Beautiful’. Horan says, “We all could’ve recorded together, but we couldn’t really relate to what the lyrics are about.”_

_In the words of Louis Tomlinson (also a fellow bandmate), “Harry is the most beautiful human being I have ever come to know. If Simon Cowell comes after him, I’ll beat his arse.”_

_We informed him the likely length of the sentence and he told us, “Then I’ll beat whatever’s left of his arse.”_

_Maybe Cowell should’ve thought twice before messing with this boyband._


End file.
